


Melody

by raynie



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Ending, F/M, Fluff, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raynie/pseuds/raynie
Summary: 'One day I'll lose this fight. As we fade in the dark, just remember you will always burn as bright.'
Relationships: Ignis Scientia/Reader
Kudos: 19





	Melody

“Where is your shoe?” Ignis asks in a low, hurried murmur near your ear.

With your long dress dragging over the floor, you didn’t think he would notice you had lost a heel earlier tonight, between dinner and the dance where you were now obligated to waddle awkwardly in order to balance the fact one of your legs is slightly longer than the other under the thick tissue of your elegant outfit. Looking up at him, a hand neatly clasped in his as the other plays mindlessly with the hair at the back of his neck, you smile fondly.

“Had to sacrifice it to the God of Puddles.”

He scoffs at your antics. “There is no such God. You look ridiculous and should go change before anyone notices.”

Shaking your head, your hair dances in the movement across your back. You have no intention to leave his reach, to feel the cold kiss across the bare skin of your back where his hand is resting if you were to detach from him. The heat of his palm rests not too high, not too low. Just perfectly polite. A gentleman as usual as to not offend with shameless groping of the Princess in public. As long as there’s music, you must let your feet pace blissfully over the polished floor, finding amusement in such evenings while sycophants gossip about you and your brother who’s stubbornly sitting in a corner with his best friend playing games on their phone. 

“If I leave this room, you are coming with me Mr. Scientia.”

“Don’t,” he says softly, hating the way you call him by his father’s name like you’re sitting in a room discussing important matters. 

His hand leaves your back for a moment, twirling you around before coming back closer to each other in a graceful dance you can’t ever grow tired of. In less than a week, he will depart with Noctis, Gladiolus and Prompto to Altissia for your brother’s wedding. You’re not set to attend this one, waiting for the second in Insomnia once the tensions with Niflheim settle down a bit. It will be solitary, waiting for him to return while you stay behind to fill yours and Noctis’ duties while he’s unable to. 

“Ignis?” you purr his name, bringing a hum from the advisor. “Let’s get married when you come back from Altissia.”

Too close for anyone to hear, his muscles tense clearly under his layers of clothes. It’s a plea from the heart, the affection between you two evident, and yet it is not meant to be for reasons that make you sigh deeply. 

“I am not of noble blood, we can’t.”

“You’re the Royal Advisor to the future King, that’s noble enough for me.”

“The title merely grants me a hint of power, not wealth.”

Shoulders barely slouching, the rhythm of your feet following his over the slow beat of the music guides you around the room. How terrible it is to love someone out of your reach, to enjoy the warmth of his hand in yours and the vast seafoam of his eyes. There’s not a single morning with him you don’t cherish, the pleasure of combing your fingers through his hair while he complains about things that you promised to keep behind private doors. You do not wish for any other man, not betrothed to anyone and yet forbidden to choose whoever you would like. It’s a cruel chess game in which you’re only another piece.

“You can’t ask for my hand, but I can. There’s not a single person in this room who could stop the Princess inquiring for yours.”

You beam at him, a solution you wouldn’t dare risk without his consent. Ignis holds values, the respect of traditions already broken enough as he let his hands and eyes wander too far over your body and you share the exact same sin. The song comes to a halt, a short interlude between two melodies in which your father materialises in the corner of your vision, sweeping you away from your man for the next dance. It’s in the protocol for the Princess and her father to share at least one dance, the act thought as poetic, even more after the death of your mother which rendered you the sole woman in the King’s life. You don’t share a word, comfortable silence over conversations already torn in every direction. There’s not a word your father could say to force you down from the love you nourish and the King is not the one to press further. He lets you be, according you the right to live your life to the fullest and there’s something in his quiescence that doesn’t sit well.

  
  


The unwanted morning of his leave comes, delaying reality by lingering on Ignis’ bed as long as you can with the blanket rising up to cover your chest while you lay on your side. You observe him as he gets ready, tidying his precious appearance, the man aware of your eyes traveling his body in anticipation of the next time you’ll see him.

“Will you call?” 

“Everyday, as promised.”

The reminder establishes a grin over your face, the guarantee bringing your heart into a sempiternal valse for Ignis. It warms your skin, the tingle of your nerves clinging to the expectation. His voice rocks your soul gently, forging himself into the mental anchor you need to go through any kind of day. You will miss him, dearly, but when he returns you do intend to join your destiny officially. 

“Now, I have to leave. Lock the door behind you, please.”

He tries to depart with a simple kiss to your forehead, yet you are no fool to his behaviors as you catch his face in time to pull Ignis down. Pressing your lips over his, you savor the taste of him one last time before offering him freedom from your grasp. 

  
  


With your brother out of Insomnia, you are tasked to represent both of the King’s childrens as you stand in the room where your father and the Emperor are set to sign the peace treaty. The air is thick, veiled in undeniable tension as the old man waging wars against the whole world stretches his speech to sickening boredom, but you listen deeply with your guard on high alert. One simple moment and things go sour, the clash of weapons echoing in the room. Blue speckles dust the atmosphere, your lance comes between your fingers like an old friend ready to be rammed into an opponent. It was all a trap, the evidence smudging the walls when magitek troopers roll in the room.

It all happens too fast, unable to swing your weapon properly as you do not wish to harm the person next to you. The sudden stinging pain radiates in your chest while the lance slides from your grip and your fingers bury in the blood you’re losing. Nothing can be done as the hole pierced in your body fills your lung in liquids, coughing it in vain. It’s a pitiful way to die, fighting for the last bit of hope conveyed by your brain when your knees hit the floor and you scramble to drag your frame away from the mess. It’s useless, a futile attempt at getting nowhere.

A kick hits your side, toppling you over and you roll on your back, hands pressing against your wound. Its eyes glow red, hovering your frame before your head gets bashed by the end of its rifle. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is how I treat my fav, with inevitable heartbreak.


End file.
